


Timelocked

by the-captains-ayebrows (EscapistFiction317704)



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Adventure, Attempt at Humor, Captain Cobra - Freeform, Captain Swan - Freeform, Companion!Henry, Crossover, Doctor Who References, Doctor!Hook, F/M, Gen, Romance, True Love's Kiss, so severely canon divergent is probably really an AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-11
Updated: 2015-12-11
Packaged: 2018-05-06 03:28:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,241
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5401286
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EscapistFiction317704/pseuds/the-captains-ayebrows
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Henry Mills has just escaped Regina's house to go find his birth mother, but as soon as he reaches Main Street a mysterious blue box materializes out of thin air.  Even more surprising is the stranger who comes barreling out of the box wearing a black leather jacket, an odd metal appendage where his left hand should be, and... reindeer antlers?</p>
<p>This is a Doctor Who-flavored, seriously divergent remix based loosely on Season 1 of Once Upon a Time.  References may be made to Doctor Who characters, though none will actually appear.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Timelocked

**Author's Note:**

> This installment is all Captain Cobra, but don't worry - Emma will show up soon enough.

Henry carefully placed the large, leather-bound book into his backpack, zipped it up, and slung it over his shoulder. It took all the strength his ten-year-old arms could muster, but he wrenched open his bedroom window and climbed down the trellis into the night. He had a plan.  Walk to the bus station in the next town, buy a ticket with Ms. Blanchard’s credit card (he swears he’ll pay her back even if he has to save his allowance for years), and ride to Boston to find his mom. His _real_ mom.

Storybrooke was quiet that night. It’s quiet _every_ night, since every night (and every day for that matter) are exactly the same. Just in case, though, he glanced quickly up and down Main Street to make sure all the shop windows were dark and that no one was around before he crept silently out from the shadows of the alley where he hid.

As soon as his sneakers reached the sidewalk, the stillness of the night was rent with an eerie metallic scraping noise. A mighty gust of wind whooshed across Henry’s face sending his scarf fluttering away behind him, and he jumped backwards just in time as a large blue _thing_ materialized out of thin air right where he’d been standing. It was tall, rectangular box with a door on the front, kind of like the shed where Regina (he didn’t want to call her ‘mom’ anymore) kept her gardening tools, only bigger, and... _bluer_. A light flashed white on the very top, and the words “Police Public Call Box” were printed neatly above the door.

Suddenly the doors to the box sprang open and out popped a man Henry had never seen before. He was dressed in a black leather jacket and dark jeans, with an absurd sort of headpiece atop his dark hair that made him look as though he had deer antlers sprouting from his head. A red clown nose attached in the middle of his cheerful face completed the utterly bizarre picture.

He jogged a few steps onto the sidewalk calling out, “Ho, ho, ho! Happy Christmas!” Then he froze, the broad smile falling away as he looked frantically around the street. “No. No, no, no, no, no. NO.”

The man raised his left arm and began fiddling with an odd curved contraption with a glowing blue tip that he held in his - no. He wasn’t holding it. It seemed to be _attached_ to his left arm where his hand should’ve been, held in place by a black brace of some sort. The hooked device gave off a sort of humming sound, and whatever information it was telling the man, he seemed greatly frustrated by it, occasionally pausing to snarl and pound on the brace with his right hand as though he could knock some sense into it.

Henry’s curiosity could no longer be contained. “Mister?  Why are you dressed like that?”

“Why are _you_ dressed like _that?_ ” the man snapped in retort, but then he turned, and his eyes landed on Henry. His thick, dark eyebrows knitted together, and he moved closer, leaning down to rest his brace on one knee and his hand on the other so that he and Henry were at eye level.

“You’re an unusual lad, aren’t you?” he murmured, seeming to speak more to himself than Henry. “A blue box just appears on the street out of nowhere, and your first question is why the stranger who popped out of it is wearing antlers? Though I suppose you’re right. I don’t need these anymore.” He tugged the red nose and headband off, stuffing them inside his jacket where they seemed to disappear.

“To answer your question, lad,” he continued, “I was on my way to Kate Lethbridge-Stewart’s annual U.N.I.T. Christmas party, when I ended up…” he gestured vaguely with his hand, “ _here_. Now to my question: why is it you aren’t a bit more gobsmacked by my rather dramatic entrance?”

Henry shrugged nonchalantly and grinned at the man.  “I know all about magic.  I’ve just never actually seen it in person before.”

The man tilted his head and grinned back bemusedly. “Magic, eh?  Well, just between us, I think that ‘magic' is merely a fancy word for some unknown field effect randomizing the quantum properties of matter. Maybe extra-dimensional intrusion multi-” he stopped, taking in Henry’s befuddled expression. “Nevermind. ‘Magic’ is a much more efficient shorthand. So how is it that you know all about magic, lad?”

“My mom can do magic,” Henry answered matter-of-factly. “Or, at least she could once.”

“Oh ho!” The man chuckled and stood, tousling Henry’s hair with his hand. “Who’s your mum, then?” he asked light-heartedly, apparently attributing Henry’s statement to an active imagination. His eyes began to pan the street again.

“Regina Mills,” Henry answered quietly, and the man stilled. He slowly turned back to face Henry, now studying the boy intently.

“But she’s not my real mom!” Henry continued emphatically, now that he had the strange man’s full attention. “My real mom’s name is-”

“Emma Swan,” the man finished for him in a voice thick with dread. “Then you must be-”

“Henry.”

“And we’re in Storybrooke.” Henry nodded in confirmation, though the man’s words had clearly been a statement, not a question. “Henry, I’m going to ask you something and if it’s not the absolute most absurd question you’ve ever been asked, we’re both in big, _big_ trouble. Are you, by chance, the only one of your mates who ever seems to age?”

Henry’s eyes grew wide, and he felt tears pricking at the corners. How could this stranger possibly know that? Or his birth mother’s name for that matter? “No one believes me,” he answered, his voice cracking ever so slightly. “My mom - Regina, I mean - she makes me go to a therapist and…” he trailed off, his chin quivering too much with the effort not to cry.

The man sighed heavily and ran his hand down his face in consternation, then turned with a growl and leveled an angry kick at the side of the blue box. After a few muttered curse words, he took a deep breath to compose himself, then crouched back down to Henry’s level.  He crooked a finger under Henry’s chin, and raised his face so they were once again eye-to-eye.

“I believe you, Henry,” he said. His face and voice were filled with such kindness and understanding that Henry couldn’t stop a small grin from breaking through. “But I believe I’m going to need your assistance. What do you say, lad?  Are you up for a bit of an adventure?”

Henry nodded excitedly with a gleam of mischief in his eye and a smile broad enough to split his face.

The man stood and clapped Henry on the back. “There’s a good lad!” he replied, his answering grin as bright as Henry’s. “Allons-y, Henry!” He turned on his heel and began to stride confidently down the street.

Henry hesitated. “Wait, Mister!” he shouted. “Do you have a plan? Aren’t you even gonna tell me your name?”

The man paused his steps and huffed impatiently. “Of _course_ , I’ve got a plan.” He turned slowly to face Henry again. “Or at least, I _will_ have, and I assure you it will be brilliant. Now come along, Henry.” He smiled again, gesturing for Henry to follow him. “And you can call me The Captain.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! All I can say for myself about writing this thing is that it was an act of joyful silliness and, well... it made sense at the time. Bonus Cool Points to anybody who can identify the other sci-fi fantasy show from whence The Captain's description of magic originated.


End file.
